


Feed Me, Bleed Me

by themunchking (themuchking)



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuchking/pseuds/themunchking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How do you... feed? I mean, where?"</p>
<p>or, a shameless feeding fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feed Me, Bleed Me

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this in an hour last night because I am just Trash for these two and the world needs more fic of them. Totally unedited (maybe I should have re-read it when I woke up, but I didn't). I also know jack shit about comic book canon, so, keep that in mind. All I have is two episodes and a love of dirty vampire feeding fics. Takes place somewhere in the ambiguous future where Jesse knows about the whole vampirism thing.

“How do you... feed. Where, I mean?”

Jesse’s a little drunk, or else he never would have asked. They have a tradition, of sorts-- most nights they settle in the church after dark and pass a bottle between each other. They chat about whatever, sometimes God, sometimes philosophy, sometimes the idiotic townspeople who don’t deserve Jesse, shite preacher he is. 

All things considered, Jesse’s taken the whole “hundred year-old vampire” thing fairly well. It’s hard to dispute a person’s skin bursting into flames in the sun. Besides which, there’s been stranger happenings around Annville lately. Jesse strikes Cassidy as the kind of man who’s been around the block once or twice.

Most days Jesse skirts around the issue. He puts on a good show of being noble about it all, trying not to mention it outright, probably figuring it’s a sore topic for Cassidy. It’s not. If there’s one word to describe Cassidy it’s  _ nonapologetic _ . Over a hundred years is a long time to come to terms with something. It doesn’t surprise the vampire, though, that Jesse might be concerned for his precious flock.

“Oh don’t worry yer pretty collar off, Padre, I’ve been a good servant of yer lord,” Cassidy says easily. Besides the bad guys he occasionally devours, he survives mostly on livestock. There’s enough of it in Texas. It tastes like vomit but Cassidy’s trying to be on his best behavior for the preacher. “I’ve not touched a single innocent soul.”

He’s got doubts about the  _ innocence _ of anyone here.

“Ah,” Jesse falls silent and Cassidy takes the pause to stare shamelessly at the preacher’s pretty, plush lips. His ridiculous hair that looks it’s been mused by something,  _ someone _ , dirty and sinful. Cassidy would know; he’s often the dirty thing doing things to that hair. “What about me?”

Cassidy sputters and spits out some precious whiskey. “What’d you mean by that?”

“I’ve got blood,” Jesse continues. “Lots. Gallons. You could feed off me.” 

The thought sobers Cassidy as much as it makes desire pulse through his undead veins. He imagines the preacher trapped underneath his taller frame, the perfect little prey willing and wanting. Jesse moaning, because  _ oh _ isn’t he noisy when he gets riled up. And hasn’t Cassidy thought about it before? Every time he gets the preacher on his back where he can see the man fucking him  _ and _ his God-- every time he presses sloppy kisses to skin with a pulsing treasure trove hiding just below. His pants are getting uncomfortable, but--

“I don’t want to hurt ya, love,” he says quietly, almost sheepishly. He’s usually not the kind of person to give a damn. “Because it’s gonna hurt no matter what. Just not a good idea, tempting as you may be.”

Jesse moves, then. He pushes so Cassidy’s all the way in the pew and climbs on top-- where he most likes to be. He grinds down, eliciting a sharp groan, and kisses Cassidy like he wants to fight him. The vampire’s hands find hips automatically and they move together like that, gasping and groaning, in a way that is already familiar after such a short acquaintance. He can feel Jesse’s hardness against his and moves to  _ do  _ something about that, but he’s met with unexpected resistance-- Jesse’s hands on his shoulders and a rough shove to where back meets wood.

“Maybe I  _ want _ you to hurt me,” is all he says.

Oh.  _ Oh _ . 

That, there, is something Cassidy can work with. 

Jesse undresses himself. He likes to do it himself most of the time, and the beginning is maybe Cassidy’s favorite part, because he starts with the preacher’s collar. It’s always the first to go, first to reach the church floor. Cassidy thinks  _ this is mine, all mine _ , and the thought tastes like sweet sanguine. He gets impatient when Jesse gets past his shirt, though he would like to put bites in some lovely other places. For the sake of utility alone Cassidy gets his own off, too. He’s only got two, and one of them is technically Jesse’s. 

The preacher’s neck is a beautiful expanse of white, untainted skin. Cassidy kisses it, licks at it, scrapes his teeth gently across. Each action has Jesse shaking beautifully in his arms. “So good for me love, that’s right,” Cassidy murmurs. They’re back to grinding against each other. He’s never given the act much weight, always seems a bit juvenile to get hot and bothered with clothes on, but it drives Jesse  _ wild _ . And now Cassidy’s never been so turned on in his life, so the preacher might be onto something. 

He bites. 

It’s good. So good, the best he’s ever had maybe, and Jesse Jesse Jesse is the one giving it to him. Cassidy’s never going to leave, not as long as the church is standing and the preacher is here. His love’s making these noises, too, these beautiful noises like the kind he makes when Cassidy has been teasing him all night and he wants to beg for it but is too proud to. He’s never given much consideration to how it feels to be on the receiving end. He’s losing himself in the  _ goodness _ of it all, the terrible perfection of it.  _ In the eyes of God and Men I’m going to drink this man dry and love every second of it _ , he thinks. He keeps drinking until Jesse’s hushed and keeps going then, until--

“ _ Stop.” _ The command rattles Cassidy down to his boots. He pulls away in perfect obedience, horrified, of course. It’s so easy to get lost in the feed and he shouldn’t have  _ listened _ he’s gone and hurt Jesse, he’s sure of it. He can’t bear to look the preacher in the eye so he let’s his head drop, to where he sees the telltale wet spots on both of their pants. He came in his fucking pants like a  _ schoolboy _ and didn’t even notice. 

Cassidy lifts his head. Jesse looks at him like he’s a miracle, but he’s quite the sight himself. Because Jesse is just  _ covered _ in his own blood. It’s smeared onto his neck and chin, drips down onto his chest and arm, where he’s lifted on hand to cover the bite. Cassidy’s sure he’s not much better. Probably worse. Preacher’s heaving deep but steady breaths. For a while they just  _ look _ . Then Jesse grins. 

“That,” he says, and honest-to-God leans in to kiss his  _ own blood _ of Cassidy’s lips “was the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I went too far,” Cassidy insists. Jesse rolls his eyes. 

“You hurt me but I  _ asked _ you to. That’s how consent works darlin,’” Jesse leans back, looking like a pinup or something. “Now are you gonna help me clean this up?"

Of course Cassidy is. No more trouble-- that’s what Jesse asked for.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to my [tumblr](http://themunchking.tumblr.com).


End file.
